First Class
by CodependentLiza
Summary: Needy college-student Bella meets successful businessman Edward when she's re-booked into first class after being bumped off an earlier flight. A little turbulence and an oxygen mask or two later, and it's...love at first blush, of course. AH, ExB, one-shot


**Hello, any Readers remaining after my in-depth examination of suicide last posting. I'd say I was sorry about posting that, but truthfully I'm not, I'm actually kind of relieved to have all that out there. **

**However, I AM sorry not to be posting my updates to my first two stories yet. I'm having some technical (read, "emotional") difficulties with the next chapters, for CR because I need to do a better job of all the background that's in my head and that I therefore get to leave out when I write stories just for myself, and with Sharks because I need to flesh out Bella's character. Why is that so hard? Here, I'll let you in on a little self-dialogue with which I started my last writing session for Sharks...**

**"Ugggh…Bella's perspective. I don't want to write Bella's perspective, b/c it bores me. **

**Why? [I ask myself.]**

**I just want to hear how much Edward loves her! Isn't that the point here? Why do I need to write this? **

**B/c otherwise, it won't be believable! **

**Believable? Good grief, what of this could ever be believable? **

**Liza ***, do not write lies! If it's not believable, at an emotional level, it should not be written.**

**[a little contemplation later...]**

**Maybe the secret here is to get over yourself, and separate from Bella. She's NOT you. Not really ever, and definitely not any more. So describe to yourself and everyone else the sweet little girl who's going to get Edward Cullen to take care of her. What makes her worthy? What does she bring to the relationship? Who in this world do you want to rescue? **

**[expletives from self] **

**Now don't go getting mad at her for not being you. That's not nice!"**

**So as you can see, I have a little work to do before I can post updates for my earlier stories. But don't worry, I've lived with my high-maintenance self so long, I know a few short-cuts to get my brain moving in the right direction. In the meantime, I offer you the following one-shot from my angst-ridden stores of codependent love stories while you wait.**

**DISCLAIMER: As always, the Twilight universe belongs to Stephenie Meyer, and I'm so grateful for her willingness to let us all act out our insecurities and desires with her marvelously adaptable characters. And if Twilight's utility as a genesis for other people's exploration in the written word and communal psyche isn't proof of her particular genius, I don't know what is! **

Story prompt (from my own needy brain) that might someday be replaced by introductory chapters: Emotionally overwhelmed and needy but affectionate Bella is placed by the airline in an empty seat in first class in order to fit her onto a flight from Seattle to Boston because of having bumped her from an earlier flight. One guess as to who she's sitting next to…

Bella stumbles onto the plane after everyone else has boarded, catching her feet on the aisleway carpet, flustered by the narrow space and her intense awareness of the people all around her as she always is on airplanes.

To her surprise, her seat is almost at the front. Terrified she's made a mistake, since this is first class and she only paid for coach, she double-checks, then checks again, to make sure the seat number matches the boarding pass she just received at the gate. Finally, as a stewardess brusquely moves by her to start the pre-flight instruction drill, Bella falls into the aisle seat in front of her.

Her sudden movement makes the well-dressed businessman sitting next to her look up briefly. She notices, and says a breathy, quiet, "I'm sorry" in his direction, though she's no longer looking at him, but down at her feet, and at the backpack she has just hastily shoved under the seat in front of her.

The man looks at her one moment more, furrowing his brow as if to puzzle out what she was apologizing for, then shakes his head and, going back to his laptop, doesn't respond.

When the flight is underway, the first-class stewardess comes around for drink orders. Bella is flustered, avoiding the stewardess's expectant look as she reflexively glances towards Edward in panic, not knowing what the protocol is in first class, and being afraid she'll mess it up, or accidentally order something she can't afford. (Bella is expert at imagining worst-case scenarios and then avoiding action because of them, no matter how unrealistic they may be.)

Her seatmate looks up, sensing the delay in the normal exchange, and catches Bella's desperate glance; then, without thinking, he orders for both of them. Looking to the stewardess, the man says in a matter-of-fact manner, "I'll take an iced tea please, and ginger ale for the lady."

The stewardess nods and smiles widely, batting her eyes at the relatively young and extraordinarily handsome businessman in the exquisitely-well-tailored suit, and says, "Coming right up, Sir" before moving reluctantly on to the next row.

Bella, meanwhile, looks up at the man with absolute incredulity, and such grateful relief that he feels compelled to smile at her. "First time flying, sweetheart?" he asks, really looking at her for the first time himself.

Bella blushes madly, shaking her head and looking down at her feet, not managing to form any words. He laughs, a very quiet chuckle, at her speechlessness, then adds, "I'm Edward, by the way." And with an ironic grin, because of course she's not reciprocating at all, he adds, though not meanly, "It's nice to meet you."

As he's about to return to his laptop, a thought occurs to Edward, courtesy of the passenger walking by Bella at that moment. He watches as she cringes away from the aisle until the person has passed, then impulsively asks, "Would you like to trade seats with me, honey?"

He has asked out of kindness, preferring the window seat himself for the greater distance from the mass of humanity he's temporarily stuck with, but guessing that this scared rabbit of a girl will feel more comfortable on the inside, and that relieving a little of her anxiety will be worth the increase in his own discomfort.

Trying to save her embarrassment at his question, which implicitly acknowledges his awareness of her distress, Edward adds an alternative (but also plausible, he's surprised to realize) rationale for his offer: "Maybe you'd like to see out the window…"

Bella stares at him, wide-eyed; she's shocked at his kindness, and that he's speaking to her at all. Finally, she nods her head slowly just as he's saying "Or maybe not-", interrupting himself when he sees her nod, and then her blush. It's a beautiful blush, and he watches for a moment as the color spreads, jogged back to the present when the stewardess arrives with their drinks.

"Hold up a moment," he says briskly to her as he folds up his laptop, unbuckles and stands. "We're doing a little re-arranging here," and he flashes a sexy grin at the stewardess to keep her from getting impatient.

It works, and she's only too happy to have Edward's arm to brush up against now, and Edward grimaces at the price in unwanted flirtatious advances he'll be paying for the rest of the flight. But one look at the girl—who reacted slowly, taking several seconds to register him standing there, waiting for her, but then made up for lost time by bolting up and over the arm rest while being very careful not to touch him at all, then curling up into the corner next to the wall and re-buckling herself, and finally looking up at him again with those still-disbelieving wide eyes—makes him happy with the trade.

He smiles at Bella again, who immediately blushes further and looks away. Then Edward sits down, opening up first his own and then Bella's tray table before taking the drinks from the stewardess as he hands her a large tip.

The stewardess says "Thank you," in a sultry voice, with a suggestive eyebrow raise and smile. As she reluctantly turns away, Edward adds, "Oh, and we'll need a blanket here too, please. A clean one, if you will."

The stewardess nods, and quickly brings the item to him, only slightly irritated when he gives her a cursory "Thank you," before turning to spread it over the annoying little girl next to him. Bella, on the other hand, looks up at Edward, even more in awe and amazement than before, and smiles—for the first time in their interaction—as she snuggles under it and says, "Thank you!"

Her voice and expression are all sweetness and innocence, a study in contrast with the worldly stewardess he was just interacting with, and Edward tips his head to examine her more carefully, his interest now thoroughly piqued. Bella has closed her eyes and drawn up her legs, and she's small enough that just her feet jut out from the seat. She's resting her head against her flat hands ("I should have asked for a pillow, too," Edward chastises himself), which are clasped underneath, and in turn resting against the back of her seat. She has, in positioning herself, unthinkingly angled herself towards him, and he can't help but feel this as a compliment before returning his attention to his work.

Half an hour later the flight gets rough. Rougher, indeed, than Edward has ever experienced. Not only does the seatbelt sign go on, but the captain orders all items to be immediately stowed and instructs the flight staff to buckle up as well. Edward realizes how serious the pilot is as he hears thunder and sees the flash of lightning, then feels the plane lurch steeply downward before leveling out a bit. The oxygen masks are deployed and Edward wastes no time getting his on. Then he looks over to the girl.

xxxxxx

I stared at the yellow plastic hanging in front of me, too scared and disoriented to do anything with it. I vaguely remembered the flirtatious way the stewardess had demonstrated putting it on, the strap being pulled artfully over her well-arranged hair, an air of sexy suggestiveness even about the way she handled an oxygen mask.

I had started to lose myself in sad and slightly bitter musings about why some women seem to handle being women so much better than I do, when I felt pressure on my face quickly followed by a tightness around the back of my head. I startled back a little, my eyes lifting up and to the right to see my seat mate, his overwhelming eyes boring down into my own, his brows furrowed, his body tense. His capable hands were still adjusting the elastic straps in front, and then he said with authority, "Breathe," and I sucked in air at the same time humiliated, ashamed tears started welling up in my eyes.

The air tasted funny somehow, and its coldness tickled my nose, but it worked as I didn't suffocate despite having a plastic bag strapped tightly to my face. My shame at needing my neighbor's help again, and being so unworthy of it, spread through my body, my shoulders starting to shake with suppressed sobs.

I was staring hard at the pocket on the seat back in front of me, trying to focus on the creases in the leather to stop the tears, when I felt it. I looked up sharply, shocked. But the feeling wasn't withdrawn. Instead the warm fingers grasping my hand started moving against my skin, squeezing my hand gently, then tracing circles in my palm.

I don't remember anything else that happened the rest of that flight, but I remember his hand holding mine. He told me later that we had been in great danger at that moment, but all I can remember thinking is that, for the first time in my life, I was safe. Finally, truly, safe. There are no words ...

xxxxxx

She calmed instantly, it seemed, when I took possession of her hand, though she wouldn't look at me. She just relaxed back into the seat, closed her eyes, and let me hold that part of her. She didn't squeeze back, but she wasn't exactly limp either. It was like all her consciousness was focused in her hand; I could _feel_ her awareness of my protection, it was so strong.

It was also intoxicating, my awareness of her awareness, and so clear that it almost felt as if we'd discovered a new means of communication, a new wavelength no other humans had ever stumbled upon, a new channel.

I was not so far gone as to be able to disregard the perilous situation of our plane, however; and after a few moments soaking up her ease with me, my attention was drawn once more to the lightning flashing outside and the bumpy descent to ever lower elevation.

Finally, there was an announcement of our imminent emergency landing at Peoria, Illinois. Like almost everyone around me, I sighed with relief when the wheels touched down, and the captain informed us we could all remove our oxygen masks. Somebody in the row ahead of us was sobbing.

My seatmate alone seemed unaffected by the ordeal; indeed, after wordlessly allowing me to carefully remove her mask, she was now once again relaxing against her seat, a small smile on her face, her eyes closed. I might have even thought she was sleeping except for the continued responsiveness of her hand in mine.

I couldn't help but smile back down at her, shaking my head in disbelief at her seeming lack of interest in her own survival, until I heard the fasten seatbelts sign ding off and I whipped out my cell phone to contact Alice and get her on the job of finding the least objectionable hotel room in Peoria…as well as lining up a rental car for the morning-I wasn't going to be feeling like getting in a commercial airliner again anytime soon.

"Alice," I started before she had a chance to get a word in, "My days of flying commercial to keep in touch with the common man are hereby over. And not coincidentally, I am in Peoria for the night and need a hotel room."

"What? Edward, are you all right? What happened-" Alice started off on her rapid-fire inquiries, but I interrupted.

"Alice. The hotel room. I'm not the only one stranded here for the night. I'll let you get on it and call me back with the details. I'll need a ride, of course."

"Right. I'm on it."

Then before she could hang up, I added—not really as an afterthought, as I was thinking of nothing else since I got the phone out— "Oh, and Alice? I'll need two beds."

I thought about that for just a moment, looking down at the silly girl still lying in her seat with her eyes closed, looking blissed out just from my hand-holding. I tried to imagine her sleeping in one bed and me, several feet away, in another one, not close enough to keep her from rolling out on to the floor or tripping herself in the bedclothes and smashing into the side table or even being abducted in the middle of the night. All these heinous possibilities presented themselves in such rapid-fire succession, and with such great believability, that I quickly amended with confidence, "Scratch that. Make it a king."

I could hear Alice's eyebrows rise. "You have company?" she asked, trying to sound innocent.

"Yes, I do, as a matter of fact. I'll give you details when you have my reservation and I'm sitting in my hired car driving away from this disaster."

"But—"

"And not a second sooner, Alice. Take care of business!" and by that I meant me. Then I hung up.

Luckily she was used to my terseness and is very good at what she does, which is basically wrapping other people around her little finger so that she can get what she wants. And as my little sister, whom I have doted on all my life without completely spoiling her, what she wants is usually to make me happy, as long as her happiness is also assured. It's been a very satisfyingly efficient relationship so far.

xxxxxx

I startled up and out of the seat a bit when I heard my neighbor say, right in my ear, "Rise and shine, sleepy head, we've got a ride to catch."

Blinking, I looked around me and realized everyone was preparing to leave. I must have looked as confused as I felt, because my neighbor leaned over and said quietly, "Don't worry, sweetheart, I've got everything taken care of."

Now I was beyond worried, however; I was panicked once more. "We're not in Boston?" I offered tentatively, knowing even despite my recent satisfied haze that the flight hadn't been nearly long enough.

He laughed at me, sort of incredulously, but not meanly, and shook his head slightly. I blushed, and felt very uncertain. What had I missed? Why was he looking at me like that? What do I do now?

My last question was answered when, without preamble or permission, my neighbor leaned down in front of me and pulled my backpack out from under the seat in front of me. He had let go of my hand a couple minutes earlier, and packed up his laptop into a carrying case, then pulled a wheeled suitcase out of the overhead bin, setting it down in the aisle next to us. Other people were also emptying the bins in that aggressive, racing way that characterized the end of plane rides, and always made me grateful to have checked my bags. I just had my backpack to worry about.

Except I didn't even have my backpack right now, because it was sitting in my neighbor's lap. With a painful stab I realized he was soon not to be my neighbor any more. Tears welled up-going back to school always put me on an emotional razor's edge-at the thought that I would never see this man again, this man who I knew should mean nothing to me, the way I surely meant nothing to him, but who had just provided me with greater emotional comfort and security than I had ever felt before in my entire twenty years on the planet.

What was wrong with me? Scratch that, I thought to myself. I _knew_ what was wrong with me. I was one messed up human being, hopelessly emotional and chronically pitiful in my own less than glowing opinion of myself. I could NOT let this man know how upset I was at leaving him. I refused to be that desperate, or at least I refused to LOOK that desperate.

I was having a very stern conversation with myself, inside my head, when I felt a tugging on my hand. Looking up, I startled again to see my neighbor, and indeed everyone around us, standing up and ready to proceed down the aisle to exit the plane. I felt another surge of panic, looking wildly around me, calmed only slightly by the sight of my backpack slung over the shoulder of the man who was once more holding my hand. The man who was also looking down at me, from over his shoulder as his body twisted to reach mine, with a puzzling smile on his face. It almost looked…affectionate.

I was shocked by this, more than anything else on this enormously surprising plane ride. Usually I irritate people, from my family and friends to the strangers I encounter going about my day-to-day business in my anxious, scatter-brained way. Heck, I irritate myself.

I suddenly realized this confusing man's lips were moving, as I continued to stare at him, trying to understand his facial expression. Making an effort to tune back in, I heard him say, "Sweetheart? Did you hear me? Do you have anything besides this backpack to get off the plane?"

I felt my brow furrow more as I simultaneously thought about his question and why he was asking it. Thinking, my head dropped, but I still caught movement from in front of me, and voices, and then one more strong tug.

Then, a voice – his voice – right in my ear. "Sweetheart, just nod or shake your head for me. Do you have a bag anywhere else in the cabin?" I shook my head "No," my eyes not leaving the floor and bottom of the seats and the moving legs emptying from the aisle in front of us.

"Good girl," I heard my neighbor say warmly, and I blushed, even while I was absolutely certain he was talking to someone else. I was not nor had I ever been a "good girl." This realization of course made my eyes prick with tears again, and my consciousness shifted to trying to hold them back while my body was pulled into motion by the man in front of me, now leading me down the aisle of the plane. I had no idea where we were, I had no idea where I was going, but I did know one thing: I would follow this man wherever he led me.

xxxxxx

I was surprised and mildly horrified at how easily she let me take her belongings and lead her off the plane. I mean, I knew my intentions were good, and honorable, but she knew nothing of me or my intentions – where was her sense of self-preservation? Her necessary distrust of strangers?

It occurred to me not for the first time that she might be cognitively impaired. But somehow, that didn't fit. Her eyes, when they darted upwards long enough for me to catch a glance into them, were bright and intelligent, suggesting a busy mind behind her silent and reserved façade. Her quick responses too, from the instant blushes to her frequent startles, belied any slowness of intellect or understanding.

Something was off, however; or at least not normal. No adult or nearly-adult woman in her right mind allows herself to be led off a plane by the hand of a complete stranger, a stranger in possession of her belongings no less. And yet she hadn't resisted me once, not even when I paused at the head of the first-class aisle to claim my garment bag from the disappointed-looking stewardess standing there, trying to pass me her cell phone number on a cocktail napkin.

I had to drop the girl's hand for a moment as I quickly tossed my garment bag over my suitcase handle, then pressed more cash into the well-manicured hand extended towards me, carefully leaving the napkin in the stewardess's hand as well. "Thanks for your help," I offered the woman with a smile, trying to avoid any unnecessary unpleasantness in front of the little girl behind me, whose hand I then snatched up again and pulled even more quickly off the plane.

Sighing with relief to be off the overpacked death trap and away from manipulative women with designs on me and my body (and wallet), I paused briefly at the 90-degree turn in the thruway, checking on my charge. She bumped gently into me, having had her head down and so not noticing my abrupt stop. I laughed, and surprised myself by leaning down and kissing the top of the bent head now moving quickly away from me again – but only as far as my firm grip on her hand allowed.

Her head snapped up at the quick but definite kiss, and the look on her face was pure incredulity flavored with utter disbelief. She stared at me a moment, her mouth opening into a surprised "o," and I would have stood there longer and enjoyed the sweetness of her shock if I wasn't aware of a line starting to gather behind us. Instead, I flashed her a brilliant smile, the one I use to get my way but so much more genuine than it normally is, and turned around to start pulling her up the ramp again.

I shook my head but really wasn't surprised when she trotted along behind me, still not a word of complaint or even inquiry.

xxxxxx

I couldn't believe he was still touching me! What on God's green earth could I have done to warrant this kindness?

I knew the answer was resoundingly _nothing_, and that I needed to prepare myself for the abrupt end to my contact with him that was surely coming any second. I thought for just a moment about how much more lonely and scared I would feel in the ensuing vacuum of his absence, and felt the physical impact of the looming separation like a blow to my gut.

I even stopped and bent over a little, needing the small comfort of my own arm wrapped around the insides that were shortly going to be gutted, a pain like no other I'd known necessarily coming to follow on the feelings of warmth and safety like no other I'd known.

We were out in the waiting area off the gate when I paused, and instead of chastening me for causing the people behind us to bump into me with their bags, and grumble under their breath, my neighbor—my temporary salvation—just pulled me to the side and down a row of seats, dropping my backpack and his suitcoat on one and parking his suitcase in front of it before turning to face me.

"This is it," I thought to myself, and drew in a big breath and held it to brace myself for the coming good-bye, the imminent rejection. It didn't come as fast as I expected though, and I had to start breathing again. I also felt his hand come up to my face and trace gently along it, then tuck some hair behind my ear.

I was confused…what was he doing? Why was he making this matter-of-fact good-bye even harder? Could he possibly have any clue how much I was going to hurt when he walked away from me?

The shame that he might somehow sense this washed over me, drowning me, and I bent at the knees as my head dropped fast and my arms wrapped around myself again. But my self-chastisement was cut short by the feeling of his own arms wrapping around me too, and drawing me in, into the warmth of his chest, his body.

Time stopped as I marveled at the feel of his finely-woven shirt against my cheek, and the absolute reassurance of his strong heartbeat under my ear. One of his hands held my head there, as if he was communicating to me through his heartbeat something urgently important, and his other hand held gently but tightly to my hip, drawing me into him, and sheltering me there. "Please God," I thought or maybe whispered, "please let this be real."

xxxxxx

She was trembling against me as I held her close, despite my valiant attempts to project warmth and safety, both physical and emotional. We garnered a few curious glances, but not nearly as many, I'm sure, as we would have if we hadn't just stepped off a plane having made an emergency landing.

What I couldn't quite understand, however, was why she was this upset _now_; certainly during the actual crisis she had seemed peaceful, really almost serene, and more than content to just hold my hand. Maybe it was a delayed reaction, but somehow I didn't think the intensity with which she clung to me—for one arm had finally, though tentatively, snaked around my waist, and the opposite hand was now gripping my shirt quite forcefully—had anything at all to do with our recent brush with mortality.

No, it seemed much more to do with _me_, and though I am certainly used to receiving more than my share of female attention, the nature of her focus on me felt qualitatively different. And it was a difference I welcomed. Instead of desire, I felt raw need emanating from her, paired with a heavy shame that I was beginning to understand had something to do with that need as well. Almost all I could think about was how much I wanted to wipe the shame from her body and mind, and how lovely—how exquisitely, perfectly lovely—it felt to be needed in such a primal, vulnerable, naïve, innocent way.

As the stream of people exiting the plane slowed to a trickle and then stopped altogether, I was brought back to the requirements of the present moment by the ringing of my cell phone. "Sweetheart, I need to take this call," I said softly into the thick brown hair on the top of her head. She stiffened, then quickly started to pull away, but I didn't let her go far. "Mmm-mmmm," I hummed, "don't go anywhere," and I bent my head to give her another quick kiss, this time on her cheek.

She froze instantly, as I expected, and I was able to extricate my phone from my pants pocket and maneuver it to my shoulder and ear before wrapping my hand back around her hip and drawing her back in, my other arm having never left her waist.

"Alice," I said, eliminating an opportunity for her to launch into questions I wasn't ready to answer yet, "tell me you have good news?"

"I'll tell you if you tell me!" she replied in a cheerful sing-song voice.

"I told you when I'd tell you about my new…friend," I replied. "Now where am I picking up my ride?"

"Outside of baggage claim; I didn't know if your 'friend' would have checked bags or not, so I gave you an extra 15 minutes to get there just in case."

"Good thinking, Allie," I said, as I reflected that my 'friend' probably did have checked bags, given that there didn't seem to be much in her backpack besides books from the feel of it. "Call you when I'm in the car," I quickly finished, before disconnecting the call despite the fact I could hear her squealing protests. I'd have to deal with Alice eventually, but now was not the time.

Now _was_ the time, however, to clarify a few things for the little girl I had apparently acquired. She was looking up at me, hope and anxious uncertainty warring in her transparently-open face, though she looked away quickly when my gaze met hers, and tried to back away.

I sighed. She was so shy, and so reactive, if I tried to have a conversation of any length here she would probably end up crying. That seemed unwise, both for her sake and for the sake of sparing me possibly having to answer questions from airport personnel that I really didn't know how to answer yet for myself. So I stuffed the explanations I'd planned on offering for a later time and more private place, and simply resumed leading her down the airport hallway to baggage claim.

As before, she put up no protest when I gathered up our belongings then moved off, my arm around her waist this time instead of just holding her hand. The only response I could detect at all, beyond the willingness of her feet to move in time with my own, was a small sigh of what sounded like contentment, paired with the barely-detectable nudge of her head into my side.

I replied with a much more definite squeeze around her waist, and if the expression on my face was remotely like the expression on hers when she briefly looked up at me a second later, we must have resembled nothing more than a pair of love-struck fools embarking on a long-planned romantic getaway.

My rational mind belabored the "fool" part, but I found that the vast majority of me didn't care. I really had no idea what I was doing, or why, beyond the indisputable fact that this strange creature next to me needed me. And that was enough to make me the happiest man ever entering the baggage claim area at Peoria International Airport.


End file.
